


Long Distance Dedication

by Phoenicia



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Gen, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Music Nerd Haru, letter writing, mix tapes, penpals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenicia/pseuds/Phoenicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nanase Haruka's only friends in his small town are his Walkman and his cassette tape collection. But that's before he gets a school-project penpal named Tachibana Makoto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snarkyscorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/gifts).



> Some details may be inconsistent with actually living in Japan in 1984, please file under ‘artistic license’. Likewise, file any speculations as to just how long this could go on without someone using gender-specific language under ‘suspension of disbelief’. Please enjoy this fond love-letter to 80s music!

Iwatobi Middle School, Class 3-2

April 1984

 

It never fails. Nanase Haruka shows up for the first day of school and by second period he has already 1) been addressed as a girl by the new homeroom teacher, twice, 2) been assigned a seat in the back corner of the room closest to the window, and 3) resigned himself to another year without friends. Iwatobi is a small town with a long memory; one class trip incident in third grade involving stripping and jumping into a tank at the aquarium and Haruka is forever labeled the ‘weird water maniac’ with a popularity rating roughly equivalent to tuberculosis. It’s a guarantee that no girl will ever talk to him more than would be required to pass grade 3, that he’s the last one chosen for any team sports in PE (swimming skill doesn’t translate to land), and that he always walks home alone. Even the Art Club gave up on him last year, his talent doesn’t outweigh his lack of social skills and general disinterest in others. Nanase drifts like water, a nonconformist in a society that accepts nothing but rigorous harmonic sameness.

And homeroom teacher Amakata Miho decides to make him her new project. Or, rather, to involve him in the class project in a special way. The cherry trees outside are still dropping their petals to float in the wind when she announces it two weeks into the term, Haruka’s attention as always out the window.

“We have a very special class project this year. Mitaka High School outside of Tokyo is going to be our partner and we’re matching up their students and ours as penpals. Each of you will write at least two letters per month to your partner. To work on our interpersonal skills, your partner will be someone of the opposite sex. Boys will be paired with a girl partner, girls will be paired with a boy partner. We hope to learn more about differences in communication, as well as share knowledge about how our parts of Japan are both similar and different.”

The classroom springs up with questions. “Does it have to be a _boy_?” “Can we send only letters or are gifts all right?” “How long will it last?” Amakata waves her tiny hands in front of her, signaling for the class to settle back down. Haruka lifts the top of his desk just enough for a longing look at his Walkman; he’d much rather immerse himself in English-language music than write to a stranger. What would he even say? And to a girl at that? Way, way too much effort.

“The project will run until graduation, so it will last the entire school year. Don’t worry, the content of your letters will remain private, but twice a month letters will be posted to and from our schools as a group. You are welcome to exchange addresses with your partner and correspond with him or her beyond the scope of the project. It will be letters only for the project itself, but you may send gifts on your own if you choose. To encourage communication on an equal level, all letters are to be written using ‘watashi’ as your pronoun.” Amakata’s heels click on the classroom floor as she hands papers to the first student in each row to be passed back. “Please fill out these short surveys; we will try to match you based on common interests or hobbies if at all possible.”

There is no one in the seat in front of him, and the girl two seats ahead drops the page on the empty desk without handing it back. Haruka grits his teeth in annoyance, sliding just enough out of his seat to crouch in the aisle. He doesn’t want to attract any attention, but the giggles from the next row are unmistakable. He’s used to them, though, and gives no outward reaction as he reaches forward to grab the paper, never rising above his height when seated. He slides back into his seat unseen by Amakata-sensei, turning the page right side up.

 _When is your birthday?_ June 30th, Haruka writes.

 _What are your hobbies?_ Swimming, cooking, art. This isn’t as hard as he thought.

 _What are your interests?_ Swimming. The ocean. Foreign music.

Haruka sneaks another peek inside his desk, Prince’s “1999” album making seductive eyes at him through the Walkman’s window. Haruka’s father works for Sony, and even though Prince’s label is Warner Brothers he didn’t hesitate to bring it and several others back from the US. Haruka thinks all the time his father spends out of Japan is warping his sense of brand loyalty, but if it means lots of music for him he will not complain. It doesn’t tend to reflect in his English exams (translating ‘Baby, you’re much too fast’ to Japanese hasn’t shown up on a test yet), but Haruka understands the language far better than most of his class. Lyrics are a window into the wider world beyond provincial Iwatobi, beyond the borders of Japan; he’s learning about nuclear war, political strife, religious suppression of ideas - all from foreign music (and a lot of trips to the library coupled with much dictionary-diving).

 _What is your dream for the future?_ Haruka hesitates, not quite sure how to put it into words. There’s so much he wants to do: he wants to see and understand the things he hears about in music; he wants to swim in waters everywhere; he wants to find a small spot of his own apart from a culture that withholds its validation unless he’s like everyone else.

 _I want_ , he writes at last, _to be free._

Amakata collects the papers and dismisses the class for lunch. Haruka gathers up his bento and the Walkman, hurrying out for the quiet and solitude of the roof to share his mackerel with a Little Red Corvette. The teacher watches him go, moving his survey to the top of the stack. She sorts it to one side, beginning to divide the remainder of them into boys and girls to clip together and mark before mailing them to the school in Mitaka.

“Amakata-sensei!” Tanaka-sensei bellows from class 3-1 and she hastens away, mindlessly placing Nanase Haruka’s survey in the girls’ stack while stifling the unkind thought about whether Tanaka-sensei is drinking again.

At almost the same time, almost seven hundred kilometers away, Nonohara-sensei in class 3-3 at Mitaka Middle School mistakenly shuffles Tachibana Makoto’s page in with the girls for the exchange, the small note attached to it stating that Makoto-san will be a good match for one of Miho’s difficult students. Both send their surveys without ever realizing their mutual mistake.


	2. Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First letter. Haruka has a bit to learn about effective communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some details may be inconsistent with actually living in Japan in 1984, please file under ‘artistic license’. Likewise, file any speculations as to just how long this could go on without someone using gender-specific language under ‘suspension of disbelief’. Please enjoy this fond love-letter to 80s music!

About a week later, Amakata-sensei presents each student with the handwritten survey of their partner. “Your first letters will be due next Friday. This is normally self-study period, but today it can be letter-writing period. If some of you wish to work together, that’s fine.” Immediately, a gaggle of girls near the center begin turning desks so they could sit in a group, boxes of fancy stationery coming out of their bags. Class 3-2 fills with talking and giggling, elegant papers swapped and tips on folding and handwriting exchanged.  Ito Ayame is convinced her partner, one Koishikawa Masato - age 14, birthdate October 7th - holds her future destiny. They will correspond through the project, during which he will fall madly in love with her, they will get married right after high school, have two children and live in Mitaka near his family.

So annoying, Haruka thinks, digging his Walkman out of his desk. If they can have noise and confetti and kimono-patterned paper, he can have a little music. He dials the volume down and slides his thin gray headphones on, side two of Van Halen’s “1984” cued up today. Deep, motorcycle-like double bass fills his ears in the opening to ‘Hot for Teacher’ and his feet tap along as if he’s riding the pedals in time with Alex, warming up the metaphorical crowd for a taste of Diamond Dave’s raunchy sass.

His air-drumming hands blur his view of the page on his desk with his partner’s information, kanji written a little messily as if in a rush. ‘I’ve got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I’m hot for teacher,’ Haruka mouths, finally picking up the paper during Eddie’s guitar solo and giving it a once-over.

Tachibana Makoto. Age 14, birthdate November 17th. Very un-girly handwriting, but tiny little 137cm Kurosaki Mitsuki writes worse than any guy in their class; it pays not to draw conclusions on handwriting alone. Tachibana-san’s favorite subject is literature, her worst is English, she likes video games and sports and kittens and chocolate. She has two younger siblings and her dream for the future is to do something that makes others happy.

That’s all well and good, Haruka thinks, but does she like water? Does she like music? The closest arcade is in Tottori, so he only plays games when he needs to shop for things he can’t buy in Iwatobi. (There is a decent music store in Tottori, but their selection of English-language tapes is at least a year behind Haruka’s father-imported collection. Still, it’s good for picking up replacements and the occasional gem in the ‘various artists’ section; so many random labels put out collections titled ‘Supersonic Hits’ or ‘New Wave Chart-Toppers’ and the like.) While his parents would probably buy him a Famicom if he asked, Haruka prefers music to endless rounds of Donkey Kong. He bought a dual cassette deck for his stereo with his new year’s money, so he can finally make his own mix tapes.

Huh. Maybe instead of writing a whole lot, he can make mix tapes for Tachibana-san. She won’t understand the lyrics - Haruka still struggles with that himself and he knows his constant exposure to them has him ahead of the curve - but music really doesn’t need language. It just….is. Mathematical structure utilizing tones rather than equations, no need to solve for x, it provides communication to the whole world.

The tape shifts to “I’ll Wait” and Haruka pulls a plain piece of paper out of his desk. A rote opening is always required for a letter, and he writes _Haikei_ vertically at the right side, tapping his pencil against the desk as he tries to think of something to say. _It is now springtime in Iwatobi and_ _I am your partner for this assignment_ seems too direct and too rude, even for him; however, nothing else seems to capture the facts except that and he puts it down before he changes his mind. Plus, it checks off the necessary seasonal greeting drilled into letter-writing since Japanese children first pick up a pen. _My name is Nanase Haruka_ , he jots down next, going back to erase the ‘ore’ in the sentence and correct it to ‘watashi’. So formal sounding when he reads it that way, but it does clean up the rest of his thought process, as if by thinking in that all-purpose pronoun it discards the chaff and clutter.

_You have probably received the same survey I have, so you already know my age, my interests and future dream._ To be free, he had written, and the words ring no less true today. _Please take care of me_. There, that also fits with proper social ritual.

Haruka isn’t certain Amakata-sensei, despite stating that their letters will be private, would accept a penpal submission only four sentences long; even though it is roughly 3.75 sentences longer than Haruka’s normal conversations, he knows the expectations are higher than that. Kittens- and chocolate-loving Tachibana Makoto deserves a better partner, he thinks, writing the song lyrics in what would be the margins. ‘Are you for real? It’s so hard to tell from just a magazine’ flies in neatly-printed English down one side, ‘Yeah, you just smile and the picture sells, look what that does to me’ bordering the other.

He doesn’t see the point in erasing them (they make his letter look longer, for one) and Haruka absently spins his pencil over the top of his thumb, pushing it with his ring finger, catching it with his first two, repeat ad infinitum until he drops it or needs to write something else. It’s a thinking quirk of his in the rare moments he’s engaged and concentrating on something besides music or water.

_I will apologize now for being selfish, but my main interest is music and I will probably mention it a lot. I’m not very good at expressing the things I think or talking with other people, so I spend a lot of time on my own listening to music. And swimming. I swim whenever I can. Our school used to have a swim club, but it was disbanded my first year for lack of members. There’s still a community club in our town, but I think the owner may have to shut it down soon for financial reasons._

He’s getting better, Haruka decides; he only has to replace two pronouns this time around and he has more than doubled the number of sentences. Except he hasn’t asked Tachibana Makoto anything about herself.

_What is your favorite video game? I don’t play them very often; with no siblings, I have no one to play them with. What is it like to live so close to Tokyo? Do you have a favorite song?_ He stops short of asking if she likes swimming; he has to save some topics to cover in the next letter. And the next. And the next. Haruka swallows around the overwhelming feelings knotting his throat, not quite sure how to keep this up. It isn’t a fear of communicating with others, but rather an inability to know how to take the thoughts in his head and put them into the sort of language common to his peers. Middle school is a cruel world with its cliques and growth spurts, and while Haruka isn’t tiny, he is accustomed to taunts and aggression from those larger than him. His lack of reaction only makes them try harder in most cases.

He backs the tape up in a squiggle of garbled sounds so he can write down more of the lyrics, wherever he can squeeze them, because even in his limited English they are resonating, striking chords inside his head and vibrating down to the tips of his toes. ‘I wrote a letter and told her these words, that meant a lot to me. I never sent it, she wouldn't have heard, her eyes don't follow me. And while she watches I can never be free, such good photography!’ This is by far the strangest letter imaginable, a Rorschach inkblot of vertical and horizontal, kanji and English. Tachibana Makoto will doubtless think he’s the oddest boy she’s ever met (even from a distance).

Just like everyone else.

_I look forward to your reply._ The set phrase is rote and so out of place, along with the appropriate closing of _Keigu_ (the mandated pair for _Haikei_ ) and his name. His girly name. Why his parents settled on Haruka instead of Haruto has always been a mystery. His late grandmother used to say that because he was due to be born on the date of a total lunar eclipse, Amaterasu had claimed victory over Tsukuyomi and the Nanase child would be a girl; thus, they chose Haruka over Haruto, no matter what the outcome.

The true victory was Tsukuyomi’s, Haruka thinks, for there is no way to mistake him for a girl. He isn’t as tall and broad-shouldered as the volleyball or track or basketball club boys, but despite his leaner, narrower frame he isn’t feminine; when he does speak, his speech often borders on rude and lacks formality and honorifics.

He pushes stop on the Walkman and looks down at the letter while he slides off his headphones. After a moment’s consideration, he adds the date and Tachibana Makoto’s name in the tiny sliver of remaining white space. With the two names written so close together, her name looks more masculine than his. Sighing without sound, Haruka folds the page, sealing it into a plain vertical envelope and walking it up to Amakata-sensei’s desk. She’s reading a ladies’ magazine rather than her lesson plan and jerks back in surprise when he places the envelope atop an article detailing sexual techniques. Is this really where women learn such things, he wonders?

“Nanase-kun,” his teacher stammers out, scooting forward to reclaim the tatters of her composure. “This isn’t due until Friday. You can take your time and decide what to write to your partner,” she adds, her voice pitched in a kind note he can’t quite decipher.

“I’ve already decided. It won’t change between now and Friday, sensei.” Haruka pauses, sensing that he’s supposed to say more but with no clue just what words to breathe past his lips. He bows slightly instead and goes back to his seat, rewinding the tape a second time to listen to “I’ll Wait”.   

_I can never be free._ Those lyrics stick to him and Haruka shakes his head, because he understands that phrase all too well; he craves finding a way to silence it and move past the sea of isolation that is middle school. To grow up, to go away, to be _free_ at last. His eyes catch the shadow of a single overhead bird, winging its way around the school before arcing towards the sea. Towards freedom.

Too late to take back his sealed letter, Haruka thinks of one thing he’d actually like to ask Tachibana Makoto, age 14, birthdate November 17th: _If you had the power to fly away, where would you go?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of things for this chapter.
> 
> 'Ore' is a Japanese male first-person pronoun, most of the Free! boys use it. 
> 
> Amaterasu is the Japanese sun goddess, while her brother Tsukuyomi is the mood god. A total lunar eclipse can only occur on the night of a full moon, and the moon, the sun, and the earth must be exactly aligned for it to happen. I totally made up Haru's grandmother's superstition about it, though.


	3. Always Something There to Remind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruka hates the house across the stairs.

Haruka hates the house across the stairs.

He is in the first grade when the elderly couple who lives there sells the house and moves to be closer to their daughter and her family near Tokyo. The house is vacant until mid-August, when a noisy truck parks at the bottom of the hill and movers begin carrying boxes and belongings up the stairs. Haruka sits near the old chozuya at the entrance to his house, absently petting the stray calico cat that wanders the shrine, and watches the activity. For as long as he can remember, there have never been other children living on the hill. He hopes the bustle means the new residents will be a family like his, with people around his own age (and not just people who have no proper adjective other than ‘old’). A boy would be nice, but Haruka wouldn’t turn down a girl...just someone for a friend who lives close and maybe likes swimming and music. As long as it isn’t enka. Even his _grandmother_ doesn’t listen to enka; Haruka catches her singing along to Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden in very awkward English all the time, and she never seems embarrassed or self-conscious. Maybe taste in music runs in families like height and eye color.

The activity grows and grows and Haruka holds his breath in anticipation. His hands get more anxious against the cat’s fur and she mewls in protest, springing up to the chozuya and flicking her restless tail against the ancient wood. Bereft of his fluffy stress ball, Haruka pulls his knees to his chest, chin tucked in the valley between them, and watches intently. If there is a possible friend moving in next door, he wants to commit everything to memory so he can look back on it when he’s old (like twenty) and remember it.

A woman - about his mother’s age - climbs the steps with a boy’s hand in hers and a baby on one hip. Haruka doesn’t see a man, but perhaps he is with the loud truck. She catches sight of Haruka and lets the boy’s hand go, taking herself and the baby into the garden and the house’s entrance. The boy watches her go before trotting up the stairs to the landing in front of Haruka’s house. He’s bigger than Haruka, bulky everywhere Haruka is lean, possessing size like a sumo in miniature. His shadow covers Haruka completely. “Name?” he demands in a tone rough even for his Kansai-ben.

“Nanase,” Haruka replies after a beat; he isn’t sure what he expected but this isn’t it. So much for a friend.

“You look like you’re in kindergarten or first,” the boy says. Haruka shrugs. “I’m in second,” he boasts, jerking a thumb at his chest. “That makes me your senpai. I’ll be going to your school.” His thin lips curl into a proud sneer, revealing missing front teeth and crooked replacements budding through his gums. “This is my hill now.”

“You’re too loud,” Haruka murmurs, not quite sure what to do with the disappointment in his chest. He doesn’t even know this boy’s name, but he resents him, resents having his hopes needlessly raised, resents that instead of a friend the universe sent him an oversized, noisy braggart.

The boy is quicker than his bulk suggests, grabbing Haruka’s arm and dumping him facedown on the stone path, fleshy knee digging into his spine as he pins Haruka. He twists Haruka’s arm behind him at an angle that is uncomfortable but stops short of true pain. “That’s not a very respectful thing to say to your senpai, Nanase. We’ll have to work on your manners.”

“It’s difficult to work on anything with you on top of me,” Haruka mutters, only loud enough for the ground to hear. He sighs in resignation as if the whole thing has taken all the fight out of him. “Whatever, senpai,” he says, body going appropriately limp and docile against the stone. He only possesses four trimesters of formal education, but Haruka already knows that most bullies equate passivity with victory. Especially the stupid ones. The really aggressive ones will shove until there’s tears or blood, but there are far more cowards in bully skin than sociopaths, at least in the first grade.

Pleased with his conquest, Haruka’s self-proclaimed senpai releases him, standing with a hero’s pride. “I haven’t been able to tell if you’re cool yet, so don’t talk to me at school. Or walk home at the same time as me.”

Haruka looks away and shrugs in compliance; he goes to the swim club every day after school, so avoiding ‘senpai’ on the way home should be easy. Barring that, he can come up the back alleyway and climb the fence into his own yard instead of using the stairs. Haruka mumbles something that the boy takes for assent and ‘senpai’ hops back down the steps towards his own house. Haruka frowns in distaste at his big, retreating back; school can’t start soon enough to be off the new boy’s hill for most of the day.

He stands up to go inside, scratching the cat’s ears and taking a brief moment to tell her it’s all right if she grows to monstrous size like Godzilla and goes on a rampage at night, as long as she stomps the house across the stairs. She gives Haruka a bright, understanding meow and puffs stray hair onto his fingers with a shake of her spine.

“Haruka? Is that you?” His grandmother’s voice echoes through the living room, the scent of unadon almost dancing on the tones. Blending with that harmony is the creak and hum of the old fan, whisking air in from the porch to cool the house.

“Yes, Baachan.” Haruka dutifully locks the door behind him and kicks off his sandals in the entry.

“Did you meet the new people? I think their family name is Arai?” Haruka shrugs; ‘senpai’ never gave a name for himself. “The boy is a little older than you, if I remember right.” She turns from the stove, holding a tasting dish out for him. “Tell me if it needs anything.”

Haruka slurps what he’s offered, licking his lips so nothing spills. “It needs more mackerel,” he says, blue eyes looking up at her in all seriousness.

“Mackerel is for breakfast only, scamp. Not every meal. When you’re grown up and cooking everything for yourself, then you can have mackerel all the time.” She fluffs his ebony hair with her free hand, putting down her ladle in the rest. “I take it the Arai boy wasn’t the friend you hoped for?” Haruka’s mouth firms and he looks away in a sharp motion, not wanting to admit his defeat and the empty pang in his chest.

“Well,” she says, wisdom and experience both in that simple word, “that happens. Sometimes even when we get what we want, it turns out not to be what we thought it would be. If he’s not the right friend for you, don’t settle. There is nothing wrong with keeping people as acquaintances if you don’t connect with them.” Her gentle face shows the lines of sun damage from working on the boats when she was a younger woman, before she met his grandfather; Haruka thinks they are beautiful, though, easy to draw when he tries to sketch her picture. To him, they say she has lived many years and knows things that his parents do not (and are not here to tell him most of the time). “Friends should be special and chosen wisely. Because every friend gains a piece of your heart to keep, and in return you gain a piece of theirs. If you don’t pick them with care, over time your heart will have holes because the pieces you lost were bigger than the pieces you gained.” His grandmother smiles, ruffling his hair with both hands. “But that’s a bit heavy a topic for such a hot day. How about some music, little fish?” Haruka nods, always in the mood for music. “I’ll even let you pick.”

“Zeppelin’s “Physical Graffiti”!” ‘Kashmir’ is his favorite song this week.

“”Houses of the Holy” is the better album, but I did say you could pick.” She wipes her hands on her apron before crossing to the turntable and sliding the vinyl disc out of its sleeve. “You want the first LP, side two, right?” The stereo system turns on with a flick of her finger, the vinyl placed onto the turntable and the needle gently dropped to the beginning groove.

 

The smell of singed mackerel brings Haruka back to the present, the memories of that day so real he can almost hear the clatter of the ancient metal fan’s blades mixing in harmony with Page’s guitar. He gives the fish a hasty flip, glad he hadn’t burned it. The family altar in the living room is open today, the fresh incense giving a trail of smoke and scent near a framed picture.

In the brief break between second and third year, his parents come home for the ceremony.  Nanase Yui’s ashes finally join her husband’s in the family grave after the requisite mourning period, leaving Haruka truly alone in the house. He tends the altar every day, wishing for one more chance to hear her voice, to debate with her which music is better. They moved to cassettes a few years ago but never settled their biggest dispute: “Thriller” or “Pyromania”. Baachan always favors rock over pop, after all.

Favored, Haruka corrects himself, dumping the fish slabs on a plate and grabbing toast from the toaster. He thinks about things she said a lot of the time, something precious and painful knotting under his ribs as he remembers her mackerel lecture; he doesn’t feel grown up enough to be cooking it for every meal, but there’s no one here now to tell him to do otherwise. He packs the leftovers into a plain bento box with cold rice from the cooker and a handful of pickled vegetables; school isn’t where he wants to be today, but Haruka tries to save up his absences for warmer weather when the ocean’s lure is too strong to resist. His homework is done, might as well go turn it in.

He pauses by his school bag, hesitating with his hand stretched to the cassette rack. What should he take today? It’s Thursday, normally a three-tape-minimum day. Baachan is on his mind, so “Pyromania” lands in the bag. The Police’s “Synchronicity” joins it, and the Footloose soundtrack finishes the trifecta. There’s already a British Invasion compilation in the Walkman; Haruka adds extra batteries and he’s ready to go, tapping his shoes on and locking the door behind him in silence. There’s no point in ritual words when there’s no one to hear them.

He makes it to school with several minutes to spare, completely absorbed in rocking the metaphorical Casbah when he rounds a corner and crashes into his homeroom teacher. “Amakata-sensei!” Haruka shoots out a hand to grab her wrist, preventing her from falling but books and papers clatter to the floor and scatter in a swirl. He jams the stop button, yanking the headphones down around his neck. “I’m sorry, let me get those.” Haruka goes down on his knees, picking up folders and an explosion of envelopes that keep escaping from a larger manila one.

Once he has everything in a stack, he stands up, offering it to Amakata-sensei with careful hands and eyes that avoid hers. “Thank you, Nanase-kun,” she says, her soft voice polite as she accepts the items. “I still need to go to the teachers’ lounge before we begin, but please go on to the classroom.” He nods and bows, only too eager to escape.

Haruka walks into the classroom through the rear door, cutting across the back to his window seat. He hooks his bag over the back of the chair and sits down, uncomfortably aware his hands are trembling, his heart is pounding, his breath is coming in quiet gasps...and he cannot understand quite why.

It can’t be because one of the envelopes from Amakata-sensei’s stack said “to Nanase Haruka from Tachibana Makoto.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we still haven't gotten to Makoto, but we're getting there! Just a few brief notes for this chapter.
> 
> Enka is sort of like Japanese country music, it has a distinctive slow vibrato known as _kobushi_ and the melodies are based on the Japanese pentatonic scale. It's considered old-fashioned and very uncool by most younger people; the performers typically are in kimono or other formal clothes and despite using Western instrumental backing the songs often include shamisen or koto to add a traditional sound to it.
> 
> The 49th day is generally when the ashes of a deceased family member are interred in the family grave. Cremation rather than burial is the norm in Japan, with a single grave for the family (such as the one Rin visits for his father in the show).
> 
> Come visit me at [mienaihane](http://mienaihane.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	4. Message in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruka gets his first letter, filled with more words than he can possibly imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some details may be inconsistent with actually living in Japan in 1984, please file under ‘artistic license’. Likewise, file any speculations as to just how long this could go on without someone using gender-specific language under ‘suspension of disbelief’. Please enjoy this fond love-letter to 80s music!

_“I’ll send an SOS to the world.”_

_\--The Police, “Message in a Bottle”_

* * *

 

Four excruciating hours later, Amakata-sensei finally reaches for the large envelope on her desk, the envelope Haruka has stared holes into the entire morning. A chorus of giggles and excited chatter punctuates her congenial “Who wants to read your first penpal letters?”  Every hand in the room shoots up, even - to his surprise - Haruka’s. Amakata-sensei smiles, quickly sorting through the letters and walking the aisles to pass them out, starting on the other side of the room. At last, she hands Haruka the envelope bearing his name and Tachibana Makoto’s, her eyes soft and kind, and continues up his row.

Haruka is unable to breathe, fingers furling around the envelope’s edges. Every stroke has been imprinted upon his brain since he picked up the pile of scattered mail that morning, the dry ink on a field of white signifying Tachibana Makoto’s response, her acknowledgment of his existence. She is no longer a laundry list of vague interests and dreams, but a real person who has read his words and now sends her own in return. Sudden, nervous nausea twists his stomach, lightheadedness blurring the writing on the envelope’s plain face. “Sensei,” Haruka says with a raise of his hand, desperate to get out, get away from the classroom. “I don’t feel well. May I go to the nurse?”

Amakata-sensei takes in his pale, clammy face and bids him a hasty dismissal. Haruka bolts from his seat, hurrying out the classroom’s rear door with the barest of respectful nods towards her. Her eyes follow him, eyebrows knitting in concern; her hopes had been high that this project would draw him out of his self-imposed isolation.

She turns back to the rest of the class and gives them leave to open their letters, to savor alone or share with friends during self-study. As the classroom minus one student dissolves into ripping of envelopes and rustling of paper, she glances at the empty desk in the back corner of the room.

Empty. No envelope on its surface.

_Good for you, Nanase-kun._

* * *

 

Haruka sprints down the hall as quickly as etiquette allows, his school shoes squeaking on the floor while he hastens to his goal: the line of sinks under the window at the far end. He cranks one on, aware he’s breathing like an asthmatic old man, and jams his hands under the flow. Water - clean, clear, fresh, beautiful - cascades over his skinny fingers, whispering its reassurances with each drop. Haruka scoops it up in cupped hands, splashes it on his face, runs fingertips chilled with wet over the back of his neck repeatedly until the frantic feeling passes.

He turns off the faucet, heaving a sigh that comes from his toes. Haruka feels less like he might throw up now, but he can’t skip going to the nurse after Amakata-sensei dismissed him. A damp hand pats the front of his gakuran as he walks downstairs, the nurse’s office on the first floor of Iwatobi Middle. The windows in the stairwell show trees that are in full green, the ephemeral cherry blossoms long gone. Is this what Tachibana Makoto sees when she goes down the stairs in her school, the same sort of verdancy as life sprints towards summer? His stomach jack knifes again and he hurries toward the small office.

The nurse, Tanemura Kyoko, is about Amakata-sensei’s age, unmarried, and unlike most of the female staff in no hurry to give up her job for marriage and children. She takes one look at Nanase Haruka and ushers him inside with all due haste, cherry-red ponytail bobbing behind her. She motions for him to sit on one of the infirmary beds and rattles off a few questions, shaking a glass mercury thermometer and popping it in his mouth before he can answer. The bulb is cold as he seats it under his tongue, trying to hold it with lips rather than teeth for the required three minutes. When she takes it out, the reading is close enough to normal and she goes back to her initial questions: does his head hurt, is his stomach unsettled, is he in pain anywhere? No to the last, yes to the first two; she dissolves headache powder into a glass of water and measures some stomach medicine into a paper cup, handing both to Haruka and fixing him with her sternest stare until he drinks them down. “Your class is in self-study right now?” she asks, thumbing through his student health file to make the requisite notes. “I want you to lie down for an hour; if you’re feeling better after that, you can return to class, Nanase-kun. Take off your jacket and your belt, you’ll be more comfortable.” She pats his shoulder and draws the privacy curtain around the bed, going to open a window for some fresh air.

Alone, Haruka shrugs out of his jacket and deposits it and the black belt on the chair beside the bed. School shoes he toes off, making sure they are out of the way, and he crawls into the bed, pulling the starched white sheet up to his chest. It smells of commercial detergent and the sunshine scent of line-dried cotton, different from the ones at his house. It has been a long time since Haruka has smelled sheets he didn’t wash himself.

The nurse said he was to lie down, but nowhere in there did she mandate sleep, Haruka decides. He reaches towards his jacket, pulling the envelope out of the inside pocket where he secreted it. His leaving class in such a hurry isn’t quite a deception - he had felt dangerously close to meeting his breakfast again - but being granted time alone with Tachibana Makoto’s letter was his real wish. Haruka doesn’t think he could open it with the presence of others in the room.

This is the first letter he has ever received from someone not biologically bound to him.

He fits a finger under the flap, sliding the vertical envelope open. The scent of apples burbles out in a sweet rush from the sheaf of pages stuffed inside; Haruka thinks there might be at least three or four pages in there. Tachibana Makoto has written _three or four pages_ of words in response to him and his disjointed rambling. He’s at once elated and terrified, wishing for just a moment that he could cram the sheets back in the envelope and forget they exist. Three or four pages is a _huge_ amount; does she have any idea the obligation she’s laying on him with that ostentatious verbosity? He can never keep up, can never hope to return to her what she’s offering. All he will be able to do is apologize over and over for not being enough. It doesn’t matter to him whether he genuinely feels sorry or not, it is necessary and Japanese because his inadequacy will burden her. He hopes her teacher won’t grade this project on the length of his replies or he may be the cause of Tachibana Makoto’s future in a third-rate high school. Or worse, depending on her entrance exams.

The apple smell tickles his nose enough to make him sneeze twice in sharp succession. Haruka pulls the pages out of the envelope (there are four total) and shakes them away from the bed, hoping to disperse their fruity scent. He fumbles with his other hand for the tissue box beside the bed, snatching a few out to muffle sneezes three, four, and five. Tachibana Makoto’s apple perfume is _potent_.

Wait...why is Tachibana Makoto putting her _perfume_ in a penpal letter? Haruka rears back and sneezes once more with force, finally feeling the clawing itch in his sinuses diminishing. His nose is streaming, his eyes are burning, but...he’s no longer nervous, Haruka realizes with an awkward laugh. His earlier tension is gone and he feels...centered, almost relaxed. The drawn curtain makes it private enough to blow his nose before settling in to read.

Tachibana Makoto opens her letter like his, with _Haikei_ and Haruka’s name written downward in her masculine-looking hand. She skips the formal seasonal greeting, launching directly into _I’m very excited to be starting this project with you, please take care of me. I’m probably not a very good letter writer, so I’ll apologize in advance for my shortcomings. To be honest, I waited until the last day to turn this in because I was so nervous! I didn’t know how to respond to your letter._

Oh. And there it is again. He doesn’t know how to deal with people, and they certainly don’t know how to deal with him. Tachibana Makoto, age 14, birthday November 17th, didn’t know how to respond to him….

_Because it was one of the most amazing things I’d ever read._

“...huh?” Haruka sits up abruptly, squinting at the stationery. That can’t be right, those aren’t the sort of words anyone directs at him. Things like ‘get out of the way,’ ‘don’t talk to me at school’, and ‘water-freak’, those are what people say to Nanase Haruka. Not ‘it was one of the most amazing things I’d ever read.’ He swallows hard and keeps reading, scrunching back under the sheet.

_Haruka-chan, I don’t know anyone as good at English as you! Maybe my friend Rin, but Rin is living in the US right now so there’s no one in class 3-3 in Mitaka Middle School, maybe even the whole school! (Rei tries, but Rei is better at bragging than at English - please don’t tell!)  It didn’t matter to me that I can barely make out what you wrote, I just knew it made me feel excited; like the wind had suddenly blown through my hair with a message only for me._

_Do you know what that message was?_

_“Here is a new friend. Please treat Haruka-chan with care.”_

_I know this is a school assignment, and I have probably veered very far from the intention your teacher and Nonohara-sensei have as far as what we are to learn from this, but it doesn’t change how I feel. When I got your survey response, I looked forward to writing you...but it wasn’t like you were real yet? Do you know what I mean, did it feel that way for you, too?_

The window’s breeze blows in, rustling the privacy curtain and stirring Haruka’s hair. “It did,” he whispers out loud, clutching the thin papers. It’s nowhere near as clear as the ‘voice’ he associates with the water, but the wind seems to tease around the shell of his ear with a touch made of words. Haruka is alone...but no longer _alone_.

_And then I got your letter - you have such beautiful handwriting, your kanji are elegant and I bet you never get a stroke out of order - and...it was like experiencing color for the first time. Your words - and not just because there were so many in English! - were new to me, showing me things from a part of Japan I’ve rarely seen._

How is she getting all this magic and poetry from his fumbling attempts at communication, most in words she doesn’t even understand? Haruka is baffled, wondering if he’s being mocked or bullied in some way. That makes so much more sense than...what he thinks Tachibana Makoto is saying. He has virtually no experience with friendship, but he knows it doesn’t just _appear_ in the form of a perfumed letter and pretty words. Even in manga it isn’t that simple.

_Oh oh, I’m so sorry, I’m getting too far ahead of myself. I just let my pen flow all over the paper and write what I was thinking instead of trying to make the right words come out. Let me back up a moment and tell you the things I should have started with._

_My name is Tachibana Makoto and I’m the oldest of three. My two younger siblings are twins, a boy (Ren) and a girl (Ran). They are five and just started kindergarten this year. They have the cutest little uniforms, with yellow hats and purple smocks! I wasn’t sure I wanted to be an older sibling at first, especially to two at once! Surely that would be twice as many opportunities for me to fail and to not be someone they can look up to and trust. I’m afraid I’m very ordinary, especially since I have so many talented friends. All of them have things they are truly talented at doing, while I jump at shadows and worry a lot. I’m afraid of a lot of things, things that are genuinely frightening (nuclear war) and things I know are silly to be afraid of but I can’t help still feeling that fear._

_I think right now what I’m most afraid of is telling you what I’m most afraid of. I know that doesn’t make sense, and it’s wretchedly unfair of me to dangle it in front of you and snatch it away, like I’m teasing a cat. It’s just...after I read your letter, I really felt that Haruka-chan was somebody I would want to be friends with beyond a school project. And if Haruka-chan found out how weak and useless I am with this fear, I’d be both a hindrance and a burden to Haruka-chan. But at the same time, if I try to hide this, I’m lying to Haruka-chan, and lying isn’t a good way to start a new friendship._

_Haruka-chan...I’m afraid of the water. I’m so ashamed to say that to you, because so much love for the water came flowing out of your letter...if I were to try to wring the paper out it would have surely left my whole floor wet. It’s not just swimming that you love but the water itself, am I right? Water is very important to you...and I’m such a pathetic coward about it._

This can't be right. How can anyone be afraid of  _water_? He understands fear but not  _this_ , Haruka can't begin to wrap his mind around it. To Haruka, the water is alive, and if one doesn't show it respect it will attack without mercy, but...he can't ignore the reality of Tachibana Makoto's fear, the shakiness in kanji written previously with precision. Her honesty leaps off the page, her reluctance to hurt _him_  - and her willingness to instead let herself be hurt - because she can't share this precious thing.

"Idiot," Haruka whispers, throat tight in frustration. "Don't try to take it all on yourself."

_Oh, don’t misunderstand me, I know how to swim and I like swimming very much. My friends are on the school swim team with me. Most of the time, I’m okay. I don’t forget about it, but the feelings of my friends keep me going. It’s easier for me to swim backstroke, I can still see the sky. Do you know how huge the sky looks when you’re surrounded by water and the entire world is nothing but blue? In those moments, it seems absurd to be afraid of anything._

_Then I remember: there’s something in the water. I don’t know what it is, but it’s hungry and it wants to pull me under until there’s nothing left of me. There are times when I just freeze up and it’s like my muscles forget how to swim. It’s so humiliating, the twins are about to start swim lessons and I want to help them learn to swim and to love water, but what if something happens when I’m swimming with them? What if my fear causes one of them to get hurt? What if they need me and I’m unable to help them? What sort of useless older sibling would I be?_

_I am so afraid of being a burden to Haruka-chan and I’ve gone and burdened you with something worse, with all my feelings. I’m so sorry, it isn’t really like me to be this honest and talk about myself so much. Listen, if it will make things easier for you, we can hit the reset button, just like with a video game. Just take these pages and throw them in the school incinerator, write me back, and introduce yourself again. We’ll start over and I won’t do something selfish or bothersome like bring up fears again._

Just like that? He’s supposed to crumple up his very first letter and throw it away like it was a mistake? Like _she_ was a mistake? Haruka can't do that. Tachibana Makoto may be someone full of fear and uncertainty, someone in need of comfort he has no experience in giving, but he can't throw her away because of that. If he takes her offer to ‘reset’, it won’t take away his memories of reading her letter.

It won’t take away that she called what he wrote ‘amazing.’

_I know you asked me about a favorite song, but I don’t know if I have one. Was the English in your letter from a song? What did all of it mean? The one part I was able to read properly said ‘I can never be free’; what does that mean to you? I don’t know exactly why, but that felt like the most important part of the whole letter. What made you get so interested in music in the first place? I know Iwatobi is a small fishing town, is it hard to find music there?  Do you play any instruments? I joined the concert band club for a few weeks my first year, I wanted to learn to play saxophone very badly. But I was so nervous I got the hiccups every time I tried to make a note. So embarrassing~! The swim club is much better._

_If I don't stop writing this letter, I believe I may never stop. For some reason, I feel full of things to say when I think of Haruka-chan. Remember, if you want to reset everything, it's okay._

The letter closes with  _Keigu_ and the kanji for Tachibana Makoto. A lot of words, but nothing that feels extraneous to Haruka. He frowns, noticing that page three is on top, even though Tachibana Makoto concluded the letter. Curious, he flips to page four.

_Haruka-chaaaaaaaaaan, I am so so so so sorry! Ran and Ren got into our mother's body mist and they sprayed it all over your letter. I'm so embarrassed! I hope you don't hate apples. I would have recopied it, but it's the last day and there isn't time and now I have the stupid hiccups and people keep trying to scare me to make them stop and I think I'm going to totally die of a heart attack before I can get your next letter._

_Whether you want to reset or not, I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon. I hope today is a beautiful day filled with lots of water and music for you._

That coaxes a smile out of Haruka, something warm and unfamiliar pulling inside his chest. His earlier worry about Tachibana Makoto being less than genuine has faded, blowing away in the slight breeze and the faint twitter of birds from the window. Haruka folds the pages back into the envelope, tucking it between his chest and the sheet; he doesn't want to put it back in his jacket or let it get away from him. He yawns, mouth stretching wide, and wonders how much of that hour is left. Maybe he could close his eyes for just a moment...

* * *

 

Amakata-sensei knocks on the open doorframe to the infirmary. "Are you in, Kyo-chan?"

"Over here, Miho." Tanemura's bracelets clack as she waves her hand, the rest of her mostly hidden by her desk and stacks of books and files. "Oh, did you come looking for Nanase-kun? He's so quiet I forgot he was still here," she admits, putting her glasses down on top of the open folder. "I didn't mean to take you away from your students. Let me get him and you can walk him back."

"No need, I'll look in on him myself. If he's still feeling ill, he should stay here. How was he?" Amakata folds her arms, long cardigan dangling down past her hips as she leans against Tanemura's desk.

"Mmm. Headache, stomachache, no fever. Diagnosis: puberty." They exchange a wry, knowing look; it's a common affliction in middle school. "I think he'll live."

"I'm glad. Nanase-kun lives alone and there isn't a local emergency contact if he's seriously ill." Amakata shakes her head, wavy hair brushing her face. "I'll let you get back to work. Thanks for looking after him," she adds, patting Tanemura's shoulder and walking towards the slit in the curtains around the bed.

When she peeks in, Nanase-kun is deeply asleep, lips parted and chest rising and falling with rhythm. He looks far more relaxed than before and so _young_ ; she can't imagine living alone when she was his age, especially without the buffer of friends. One of his hands is curled atop his chest, the edges of his fingers holding, even in sleep, to the top of a white envelope peeking above the sheet. Amakata smiles fondly, withdrawing on silent feet without disturbing him.

"Is he all right?" Tanemura asks, dropping to a whisper when Amakata shushes her. "Miho, is he okay?"

"Yes," she whispers back. "He's asleep, so I'll leave him here for now. He's earned it," the teacher adds, bright contentment lighting up her pretty face. "I think my loner may have just made his first friend."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Makoto will be officially 'on camera' when we take a trip to Mitaka and spend a little time with the rest of the cast. 
> 
> While I mentioned it in chapter 2, I realize I didn't explain formal letter writing in Japan (which is a big thing). There are a few 'matched pairs' of openings/closings, and they must be with their proper partner. Haikei is 'speak respectfully' and Keigu is 'respectfully submitted by'; they serve some of the same function as 'Dear [insert name]' and 'Sincerely, [insert name]' in English.


	5. Hello? (Is It Me You're Looking For?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're finally flipping this album over to hear the B-side. While Haruka has been wondering about kittens- and chocolate-loving Tachibana Makoto, how has Makoto felt about this assignment? It's time to move to Mitaka and get his perspective, as well as meet the rest of the cast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many things to say before we get this party started! One, I am so ashamed that this took so long. Writing Makoto minus Haru is apparently really hard for me and it was far too easy to get distracted by other ideas, and I deeply apologize to anyone who waited and waited for more of this story. Going back to Haru's part of the story should let this come much, much faster. Two, this chapter's title is an homage to one of the first fics I read for Free, [Hello? Is it me you're looking for?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2337017/chapters/5150111) by [AndthereIwas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AndthereIwas/pseuds/AndthereIwas). 
> 
> As always, there are some things that may not be 100% accurate about living in 1984 Japan, please file those under 'artistic license' and enjoy.

_Mitaka Middle School, three weeks earlier_

 

“Yo, Makoto.” Yamazaki Sousuke’s voice (the depth and timbre and commanding sound of which Tachibana Makoto does not envy a bit, nope nope) booms from the rear door to class 3-3. Sousuke is in class 3-1 this year, but homeroom separation has no bearing on lunch plans. The school swim club, for all intents and purposes, meets both at lunchtime and after school without fail. Makoto picks his head up off his desk and retrieves his bento box before stumbling in his haste to join Sousuke. A few giddy giggles chirp in chorus as he makes his way across the room; Makoto has been slow to notice the girls, but they definitely notice him.

“Sorry, sorry.” Makoto holds up an awkward hand in front of him and bows slightly. His forehead has a crease in it from resting on his blazer sleeve and his plaid tie is all crooked. “I just finished my project survey and I pretty much bombed it.”

“...it wasn’t a test. Just filling out a bunch of questions, right?” Sousuke gestures with his head towards the roof stairwell and they fall into step. The tallest members of their friend group (and two of the tallest in year 3), their long strides match with little effort, taking the stairs two and sometimes three at a time. The persistent ache in Makoto’s legs says another burst of height is soon to come. Currently, Sousuke has four centimeters on him and Nagisa’s betting pool has them both topping 180 before next year’s opening ceremony.

“Yeah, but once I handed in my paper I realized just how _stupid_ my answers were.” Makoto claps a hand over his face, his tenor voice stretching to a pathetic whine. “I said I liked kittens and chocolate, Sousuke~!”

“You _do_ like kittens and chocolate.”

“Of course I do, but that’s not a very masculine first impression.” Makoto’s eyes get big in the dim of the stairwell and he grips Sousuke’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “What sort of girl is going to like writing to a guy who openly admits he likes kittens and chocolate?”

“You’re hopeless,” Sousuke mutters under his breath, dark eyebrows pulled down in a frown. Makoto...is Makoto: overthinking, jumping to conclusions, utterly unaware of his surroundings. _Sousuke_ can hear all the whispers in the halls about how dreamy ‘Tachibana-kun’ is even when he’s half-sleeping. “Just be yourself,” he says, wishing for about the twentieth time that day for Rin’s presence as he tugs Makoto’s wayward tie back into place.

“...I don’t think myself will be good enough,” Makoto replies in a quiet undertone, not enough volume for Sousuke to catch all his words. He sighs, shaking his head when Sousuke’s frown starts to deepen. “Ah, sorry, I’m being vague. Let’s go eat before Nagisa shows up.” Their second-year friend has an endearing but annoying habit of cherry-picking everyone else’s lunches to supplement his cafeteria-bread diet. Even though sharing is written in Makoto’s DNA, who wants to surrender the Tachibana octopus wieners? They’re practically a legend in Mitaka, and Makoto thinks his mother is a tad psychic; those little bits of sausage goodness always seem to crown the bento rice when he’s having a day of feeling inadequate. Even in a friend group as strong and close as his, one that for whatever reason seems to look to him for leadership, sometimes he feels he can’t keep up. That he’s not enough, an anemic candle against so many wildfires of personality and talent and _belonging_.

“...you know if you hold it over your head he can’t reach it, right?” Makoto doesn’t want to talk and thus Sousuke won’t press.

“Clearly you’ve never seen how fast Nagisa can scale a tree when it involves food.” They both laugh, the roof door creaking open with a groan and a flood of brightness to leave them squinting.

“Sousuke! Makoto-senpai!” Matsuoka Gou waves to them from where she is holding lunchtime court on a purple blanket with Nitori Aiichirou, his nose discreetly buried in an adult magazine. Perched on Gou’s other side in puppylike adoration is the newest first-year addition, Mikoshiba Momotarou. His older brother filled the role of swim team captain for two years before passing the torch to Makoto - a torch that sometimes leaves Makoto’s fingers feeling burned. Momo has adored Gou since first sight, but Seijuurou insisted he couldn’t pursue her until he was in middle school. The brothers have a good-natured rivalry over her affections, and now that Seijuurou has gone on to Mitaka High, Momo is determined to make his move, first-year or not. “Do I have to inspect your lunches today?”

“Not a chance,” Sousuke says. Makoto sits down crosslegged while Sousuke curls into a neat sprawl, where he can converse with Gou and at the same time glower intimidatingly at Momo. Gou is practically Sousuke’s little sister, too, especially with Rin overseas. Someone has to defend her from the constant Mikoshiba encroachment. “I don’t want your grabby fingers anywhere near my tonkatsu.”

“Mou, Sousuke is so mean!” Gou protests, flicking a kernel of rice at him. “I’ll tell Oniichan!”

“That threat hasn’t worked since first grade, pigtails,” Sousuke teases, leaning over and tugging at her hair. “Rin’s too much of a pretty boy to fight me.”

“You always let him win anyways, stupid,” she shoots back. Sousuke abruptly chokes on his tonkatsu, gasping and wheezing for breath while Makoto hurriedly pops the top on a canned tea and shoves it into Sousuke’s hand.

“That’s not kind, Gou-chan.” Makoto’s reproach is gentle as he pounds Sousuke’s back. “Sousuke just doesn’t like seeing Rin cry, and…” He trails off, too polite to complete the sentence.

“I do _not_ let him win!” Sousuke spasms out, red-faced and heaving. “Your brother _cheats_ at jan-ken-pon.” He gulps tea and coughs more, groaning in relief when his lungs finally calm.

“You being bad at it doesn’t equal Oniichan cheating!” Gou retorts with a defensive sniff. As far as substitute brothers go, the Mitaka swim team is pretty good overall, but even Sousuke can’t put Rin down in her presence.

“Enough.” Makoto’s big-brother voice is quiet but unmistakably firm. “We all miss Rin, don’t we? But none of us are showing it by fighting, even when we’re just teasing.” He holds their gazes in turn until both relent and mumble apologies, tiny spots of color on their faces. Satisfied, he bends to his bento, shoveling rice and vegetables and octopus wieners into his mouth. There’s only a small window of time before…

“Maaaa~koooo~chaaaaan!” With the grace of an elephant, Hazuki Nagisa lands on Makoto’s back, experience the only thing keeping his bento from launching sky-high in fright. “Oooh, it’s octopus day! Traaade!” Nagisa singsongs, one impossibly long arm stretching to drop a warm package of curry bread in Makoto’s lap before snagging two wieners. He promptly stuffs them between his teeth, leaving the tentacle portions protruding from his mouth. “Rei-chan!” Nagisa slurs around his mouthful, disengaging from Makoto and wiggling his fingers lewdly as he stalks towards his would-be victim. “Come be my fisherman’s wife and let me do naughty things to you~~!”

“That is inappropriate lunchtime behavior, Nagisa-kun!” Ryuugazaki Rei bellows as he primly adjusts his glasses, dodging Nagisa with a veteran’s grace. “Though at least it shows you were paying attention in classical literature, attempting to broach this sort of subject in front of Gou-san is…” He breaks off with an indignant sputter; he shouldn’t _have_ to tell Nagisa why it’s in poor taste to make dirty jokes - even ones with a modicum of literary cleverness - around girls. Especially girls who manage the swim team and determine their workouts.

“Eh? Why?” Nagisa chews and swallows, blinking guileless eyes. “Gou-chan’s in our class, too, so it isn’t like we’re leaving her out.”

“Yeah, I totally get this joke, unlike some of the English ones you boys try to read out of Ai-kun’s Playboys.” Gou grins and pokes more of her own lunch in her mouth. “And who eating here _didn’t_ already know Nagisa-kun was a relentless pervert and show-off?” Unsurprisingly, no hands go up, and Gou laughs her windchimes laugh. “See, Rei-kun, I’m not offended. But it’s sweet of you to worry whether I was.”

Her praise has Rei blushing to the roots of his hair and launching into some new diatribe, and despite the loss of the wieners Makoto smiles. He really has good friends. They’re going to be the subject of many letters, he already knows. But, he thinks as he tears open the curry bread, he may leave out all the sex jokes…

 

* * *

 

_Two weeks earlier_

 

Nonohara-sensei hands out the penpal surveys before lunch, but despite the class bustle and excitement around him Makoto folds his in half without reading it. Only the name at the top remains visible.

_Nanase Haruka._

As the rest of the class disburses to eat and leaves the room all but empty, Makoto wonders if there’s any way to skip the group lunch and pour over his survey in private, to learn all about Haruka-chan from what she has written.

Haruka-chan. It really is a beautiful name….

“Makoto-senpai!” Aiichirou chirps from the doorway. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Ai…” Caught, Makoto searches the reaches of his mind for a proper excuse, one that won't smack of dismissal. For a while, he'd believed the shy, quiet boy Rin dragged into their friend group might be the one to be _his_ special friend, but Momo slid neatly into that space first and despite their disparate personalities they...fit together. Makoto can't begrudge them that. He can’t begrudge _any_ of them that. “Actually, I…”

Aiichirou’s blue eyes brighten with comprehension, illuminating his fey face. “Oh! Is that your partner’s survey, senpai?”

“...Sousuke has a really big mouth,” Makoto mutters to himself, nodding. “Did he tell everyone I was nervous about it?”

Aiichirou shakes his head and slips into the classroom, sliding into a seat next to Makoto’s. “Just me.” He glances down at the folded survey on Makoto’s desk with a wistful sigh. “I’m a little envious, to be honest. You’re going to get to talk to a girl, an actual girl.”

“You talk to Gou-chan every day?”

“That’s different. Gou-san isn’t an actual girl, she’s Rin-senpai’s precious sister and our manager.” He sighs, puffing silver bangs with his breath. “It’s hard to think ‘girl’ about someone who yells at you to make your times faster and your exchanges tighter. Not to mention criticizes your lunch...”

“True, true.”

“And, I don’t get nervous talking to her.” Aiichirou fiddles with the edge of the desk, tracing his finger in an old, well-worn groove left behind by years of Mitaka middle schoolers. “...do you know why I first started reading girlie magazines?” Makoto shakes his head, a little happy for the distraction. “It came out of something Rin-senpai suggested before he left for the US. I was so uncomfortable talking to people, girls especially, whether it was in class or one-on-one. He said the best way to get through it was to picture the other people either naked or in their underwear. It breaks the ice and relaxes you because how intimidating are other people if they’re naked?”

Aiichirou laughs, the sound no longer as self-conscious as when he first moved to Mitaka almost four years ago, skinny and undersized and afraid of his own shadow. Makoto doesn’t have the heart to tell him Rin’s advice probably had much more to do with public speaking than day-to-day interactions. “Except I don’t have that good an imagination and since I was a little old to bathe with my mom I couldn’t remember what girls looked like naked. I found my dad’s collection of these magazines in our attic and...it was like a light just went on in my head. I could look and then I’d know what to picture. And it worked!” he adds, drawing himself up with pride. “Then I figured out that, well, I like looking at them. Not just girls, though; Gou-chan’s muscle magazines have some great pictures, too.”

“Ai?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve come a long way.” Makoto smiles his most senpai smile. “Rin would be really proud of you.”

Aiichirou lights up like a summer sparkler, every emotion in his face a supernova. “Thank you!” he exclaims, hero-worship shining strong once again. As it should be, Makoto thinks. “Ah, if you want to read your survey in private, I’ll go run interference. I think...I can get you five good minutes before Nagisa and Momo come looking for you. Maybe ten, I’m feeling super confident today.”

He gets up and gathers his bag and bento, gently touching Makoto’s shoulder before heading for the classroom’s door. Just before he crosses into the hallway Aiichirou pauses, turning around until his slight outline is framed by the doorway. “Senpai?”

“Yes?”

“I think Rin-senpai would be really proud of you, too.”

 

* * *

 

_One week earlier_

 

“No way!” Gou shouts when Makoto comes through the rooftop door for lunch.

“What?” Momo puts down his sandwich, both thrilled and alarmed by her sudden level of excitement.

“Can’t you see? He’s _twitterpated!_ ”

“Can we _stop_ with the Disney references, Gou-chan?” Nagisa springs up to peer at Makoto, who’s busy trying to hide his enthralled face in his hands. “I think somebody got a letter~,” he singsongs, only Sousuke’s iron hand on his collar keeping him from scaling Makoto’s back. “Details, details!”

“Nagisa-kun! It’s horribly rude to demand information from Makoto-senpai.” Rei looks positively _affronted_ at Nagisa’s lack of manners. “We should present to him logical, persuasive arguments as to why he should choose to share with us.”

“But that takes so _long_!” Nagisa protests. “Just read it out loud, Mako-chan!”

“Nagisa-kun!” This time the voice that cracks whiplike is Aiichirou’s. “This letter is not only Makoto-senpai’s schoolwork, it’s his private business. I’ll buy you a cream bread if you’ll stop pestering him about it.”

“How can you be simultaneously so generous and stingy, Ai-chan?” Nagisa pouts but wraps his snakelike arms around Aiichirou instead of Makoto. “I want two cream breads.”

This turn of events has Rei sputtering out a protest. “Aiichirou-kun, you know perfectly well it is I who buys cream bread for Nagisa-kun, despite its complete lack of nutrition. This is hardly the time to make such a radical change to our beautiful, harmonious routine…”

“Do you want a yogurt, Rei-kun?” The butterflier shrieks, which Aiichrou takes for a yes. “Gou-san, I think they have a protein drink that’s on our menu. Why don’t you come, too?”

“What about me, Ai-senpai?” Momo bounces from foot to foot, his mouth stuffed full of sandwich.

Aiichirou lays a hand on Momo’s shoulder, his grin softening into deep fondness. “We’ll just keep going until I run out of allowance.”

Momo radiates like a sunbeam and joins the underclassman herd leaving for the cafeteria. “That might not take long as much as Nagisa-senpai likes cream bread.”

“...then we raid Nagisa-kun’s allowance next.”

“Ehhhhh?”

“That’s quite logical, Aiichirou-kun. Nagisa-kun’s family _is_ wealthier than any of ours.”

“So cruel, Rei-chan!!”

Aiichirou, the last to leave, peeks back over at Makoto, mouthing ‘good luck’ to him as he shuts the rooftop door.

“I didn’t think he had it in him to out-connive Nagisa, but...that was well-played.” Sousuke leans back against the railing, practically seeing hearts and flowers appearing around Makoto’s head. Twitterpated, indeed. “Was it what you expected, your letter?”

Makoto shakes his head, pulling the precious envelope from inside his blazer. “I’m...kind of overwhelmed. She’s so smart, her handwriting is beautiful.” He runs his fingers back and forth over the surface, gaze drifting somewhere far away. “I want to read it over and over, even though I don’t understand some of it.”

“How so?”

In answer, Makoto opens it and hands the page to Sousuke, giving him permission to read it. He handles it a bit awkwardly, feeling the weight of Makoto’s emotions in his hands. “What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Sousuke ponders for a moment as he reads the letter (shouldn’t it be longer for Makoto to be this happy?), frowning in that way he does when he’s weighing speaking up versus staying silent. Most of the time, Makoto appreciates his friend’s bluntness, but Sousuke can be abrasive without trying. It’s rare he sets out to hurt feelings, but...Makoto’s are so close to the surface that often they bruise. “You should use her,” he concludes, folding the single page and returning it to Makoto.

“What?” Makoto is aghast; how can he think of _using_ Haruka-chan?

Sousuke rolls his eyes. “For English. This is a school project, right? We’re third years and Mitaka isn’t an elevator school. That means passing exams or we’ll be breaking our promise to Rin to be ready when he comes back and the three of us to win nationals. English is your worst subject...and even if she’s weird as hell, this girl knows a lot of it. Practice with her, pick her brain, leverage this into a better score.”

“Sousuke…” Part of Makoto knows his friend is right, that Haruka-chan is writing to him only because she has to in order to pass the project, to graduate and go on to high school just like him. Part of him wishes to be more like Sousuke, ready to take advantage of opportunities and not get bogged down in sentimental quicksand.

A larger part of him, though, would thrash himself if he were only to consider water- and music-loving Haruka-chan, who wrote ‘I can never be free’, as a means to an end, a path to trod in bolstering his shameful English score. People aren’t meant to be treated that way, he thinks as he tucks the letter away, and if it means living with being below average at English it’s how it has to be. “I understand what you mean, but I just can’t use someone.”

“Makoto...you know I’m not saying any of this to hurt you, right? But...this isn’t the dating game, this isn’t something out of a manga where you and she are going to fall in love or the like. This is reality and this is work, so don’t go getting all mushy and losing your head.” Sousuke breathes out a deep sigh, putting his hand on Makoto’s shoulder. “Right now it seems like we’ll have all the time in the world, but September is going to be here before we know it and we’ll be retiring from swim club and spending all our time at cram school. The exams are going to be harder than anything we’ve done before and February isn’t that far away. This girl is probably hoping to get something out of this project, so why shouldn’t you?”

“...all I really want to get is a friend.” The admission is out before Makoto can stop it, and he looks up at Sousuke with guilty eyes. “That...I didn’t put that quite right. I have all of you, and you’re the most wonderful friends anyone could ask for - more than I could ever deserve. But...each of you has someone who is their most important friend. Even though Rin’s gone, you’re his and he’s yours. I’m just borrowing you at best.”

“Makoto...I’m sorry.”

The captain shakes his head slowly. “Don’t apologize for having met Rin when you were three. I know I’ll meet that most important friend someday. But that means I can’t overlook them...or use them. If I want to get better at English, I’ll have to do it on my own. Besides,” he nudges Sousuke’s chest with his forearm, “aren’t you pretty bad at English, too?”

They descend into good-natured roughhousing and Makoto forgets about things like using people and the national exam and graduation and how he will ever manage to leave so many of his friends behind for a year or more..

But he doesn’t forget the letter warm against his chest, or Haruka-chan’s sincere ‘please take care of me.’ He will. Somehow, he will.

 

* * *

  

_Four days earlier_

 

Haruka-chan’s letter looks more creased all the time, and Makoto’s reply remains blank amidst all his other homework scattered on the dining table. He’s halfway watching the twins as they play Super Famicom together, but anxiety and doubt have tuned out their chatter. Haruka-chan’s letter is so amazing, _Haruka-chan_ is so amazing. How can he possibly respond to something so concise and wonderful when all he wants to do is ramble on and on and on to her?

He has to turn this in tomorrow so it can join the other letters in the package Nonohara-sensei will send to faraway Iwatobi, to that seaside place he never knew existed until this project, until Haruka-chan. Iwatobi, he thinks of it on the map of the Tottori coast, nestled in the infinite arms of the ocean.

A strong chill runs down Makoto’s spine and he rubs his hands on his bare arms to hasten it away. _Just be yourself_ , Sousuke had said, but Sousuke doesn’t know the truth. None of them do; in the absence of a most important friend to tell, Makoto has kept his secret barricaded deep inside his heart, locked away in chains of iron where it can do no harm to those he holds dear.

Swimming is what binds all of them together, and his fear has no place sullying the water for his friends. He doesn’t want their pity, their concern, anything that can disrupt the dynamic. He’s the _captain_. He has to lead them. He cannot let them down. He cannot fail them. He cannot do anything but swallow down his fear and swim on.

 _I can never be free_. Makoto traces that snippet of English with his finger. Maybe, just maybe, Haruka-chan can understand, too. If she cannot be free, something has her locked up as well. But...does he have any right to burden her with his secret or potentially sully the water for her?

No… he decides, all of the love and passion for the water in her short letter had burst off the page in waves. Makoto is only a stranger, he isn’t someone with the power to change her feelings about it. They’re likely to never meet in person, and as oddly sad as that makes him feel, could the relative anonymity be a bit of an invitation to share this part of himself he’s never given to anyone else? If he can admit his fear to Haruka-chan, who loves the water so much, could she find some way to still like him anyways?

While Makoto debates back and forth with himself, he takes the cap off his new pen and starts writing. As soon as ink touches paper, the words start coming...slowly at first, but faster and faster still, until his thoughts have accumulated nearly three pages in length. Heaving a deep breath, he pushes the pages away after rereading them; it’s too honest, too needy, altogether as unmanly as his kittens-and-chocolate survey. It’s too much, Haruka-chan shouldn’t get this ugly part of him as her first introduction, but for some reason the idea of lying by omission with her stings deep inside.

“Oniichan!” Ren’s teary voice interrupts Makoto’s thoughts, his breath coming in desperate gasps as he wrings his hands near Makoto’s elbow. “R-Ran played my turn while I was in the bathroom and put her name on high score!”

“You didn’t pause it and you were going to die!” Ran shoots back defiantly. “You’d have been more madder if you died!”

“Just madder,” Makoto corrects, standing up and taking Ren into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes, forgetting his own worries as his little brother sniffles against his shoulder. “I know you’re upset now, and sometimes when you’re upset the best thing to do is cry until you stop feeling upset.” Ran, seeing Ren getting all of Makoto’s attention, starts tearing up as well, the controller forgotten as she sprints over and wraps her little arms around Makoto’s leg. “Some day, one or both of you are going to come to me with a problem I can’t fix, but this one is easy.” He bends down just enough to sweep Ran up as well, taking them to sit on the couch by the television. “The game hasn’t saved, so we can just push the reset button. It means starting over, but that way whoever gets high score earned it all the way...right?”

“Right!” they chorus in turn, no longer upset or angry. “Will you play with us?” Ran asks.

“When my homework is done, yes. I have to write a letter first.”

“To a girl? Yuck,” Ren adds, toggling the system’s button so they can play again.

“I wouldn’t want to write to a boy.” Ran sniffs with girlish derision, pigtails flipping as she tosses her head. “Unless it was Oniichan.”

“N-No fair! I want to write to Oniichan!”

“You can’t, because you’re a boy. You have first play, Ren.”

“I can so,” he mutters, button mashing away. Makoto smiles and returns to the table, always amazed at how quickly they forgive and forget with each other.

_Reset button...huh…_

He bends back over his precious letter, knowing what he has to say.

 

* * *

 

_Three days earlier_

 

Something smells like apples as Makoto slings his schoolbag over one shoulder, but Rei and Sousuke are waiting at the end of the block and he forgets about it until he gets to the classroom. He opens the bag to take out Haruka-chan’s letter, eyes wide with shock when the scent hits him. Ran and Ren! It had to be them, with their giggling at the breakfast table! Frantic, he glances at the clock, but there’s no time to copy the letter onto clean pages and still turn it in.

He pulls a hasty page out of his desk and starts jotting an apology, holding his breath against the onslaught of hiccups. Stupid nerves. Stupid malfunctioning diaphragm that they learned about in science. Makoto presses a hand under his ribs, hoping against hope that no one else notices his predicament.

“Again, Tachibana?” No such luck. The boisterous voice belongs to Iwao, the class rep. “Hey, listen up! Tachibana needs our help. We have to scare those hiccups out of him before Nonohara-sensei gets here!”

“...that’s not *hic* necessary, Iwao-kun.”

“Just relax and leave this to us, Tachibana.” In groups of twos and threes, class 3-3 tries its hardest to frighten away Makoto’s hiccups until he’s blue in the face with fear and trembling. Nonohara-sensei comes in, silencing their attempts with dark-eyed disapproval. “Are you all right, Makoto-kun?” He nods around a hiccup, doing his best to will them into submission, and the teacher neatly diverts attention away from him. He breathes out a sigh and looks down at his addendum to the letter.

_I hope today is a beautiful day filled with lots of water and music for you._

Something in those words relaxes the tension away from his middle, the hiccups stopping for now. Makoto labels it page four at the top, folding it around the apple-scented sheets and stuffing all of them into the envelope. He writes a quick ‘to Nanase Haruka from Tachibana Makoto’ on the front, handing it over to Nonohara-sensei in turn with a quiet, fervent prayer in his mind.

_Please like me. Even if you choose ‘reset’, please like me._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Nagisa! When I first thought of him stealing Makoto's octopus wieners, the logical joke to make was an Urotsukidoji one...but it didn't come out until later. However, the shunga (erotic art) piece 'The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife' by Hokusai fit nicely. It has a connection to the legend of Princess Tamatori, thus how it might be discussed in classical literature.
> 
> I also couldn't resist taking Rin finding Ai's porn in the FrFr! episode and giving him the habit of reading Playboys. You go, duckling!
> 
> Next time, back to Haru! And hopefully I'll have the playlists up for the fic thus far (for chapter titles and for songs referenced). Also, I owe plenty of comment replies so now that I'm done guilting myself about the delay on this, I can in good conscience respond to them.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me at [mienaihane](http://mienaihane.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


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